It's not what you are, or the flying vase
by pellaeonthewingedlion
Summary: Thirdout of a series of three one shots/drabbles -#- Sansa and Tyrion and their marriage -#- R


**So, here is the third part of the series**

**First a big thanks to my new Beta Andrich, a yay for him**

**For the chronology:**

**1. The medallion**

**2. The flying vase**

**3. The ruler of Winterfell**

**Please read The ruler of Winterfell first then the medallion and then this story**

**I decided to publish sooner because of all the reviews**

**I own nothing**

* * *

Reaching the door to his chambers Tyrion stopped and took a deep breath before entering. He was on edge; he had spent the last hours in the small council together with his father and so dear sister. He had thought after she had Jaime back she would be more bearable, same by his father. He was back nearly eighteen months now and both were still insufferable like always, maybe even worse. Pycelle wasn't better either. Master of Coin, what a job. At the moment he would switch it with his old task as the high born plumber in Casterly Rock without hesitation.

He quietly opened the door but found his wife rising from her seat to greet him. She whispered a weak 'My Lord' and accepted his slight bow as a reply. It was always the same with her, always the dutiful wife, no, hostage. It pained him. He had done everything he could, but it led to nothing. He had offered her to leave, but she had denied. It also pained him that she wasn't even comfortable enough around him to call him by his given name. That pain turned to bitterness in his current state.

Even if it was already different from the beginning of their marriage, nearly one and a half year ago, it was not better. She did everything not to displease him, maybe because she thought he was all she had left, a thought that made it even worse. No matter if she wanted him or not, if she was forced or not, she thought it was better than to be alone without anyone to watch out for her. She didn't know that there was nearly nothing she could do to displease him. Maybe if she would try to cut his throat in the night, but for Tyrion there was nothing else he could think of. Not even a fight.

He noticed that she was still standing, and he could also see that she tried to gather strength to talk to him. Tyrion knew exactly what it was, Varys had already told him.

Today a delegation from the North had arrived. It appeared that the Boltons ran down or better ravished the North and the northern Lords sought help. It looked like that even he, the vile dwarf of Casterly Rock, was preferred to Roose Bolton. They had gone to Sansa to plea to her that she may convince him to take over Winterfell and with it the paramour-ship of them. They hadn't known that only the unconsummated marriage stood between Winterfell and him. An heir wasn't necessary for his father any longer; with Stannis dead he could just take the castle after taking Sansa. Even if he liked to go to Winterfell to take care of the castle, be away from Cersei and his father and Joffrey, he would never break his promise to Sansa. So he assumed the Lords had been very disappointed.

Mustering the interior of the chamber carefully he discovered an empty flacon of wine at the table Sansa had sat on. Dornish courage lied in the wine. Briefly he asked for what. He assumed she wanted to ask him if they could travel to Winterfell without a consummated marriage.

"How was your day my Lady?" He asked her, approaching one of the bookshelves like he did every evening. He intended to read the rest of the evening, searching for relaxation. Sansa normally never talked to him much, only replied to his questions, so he had nothing else to distract himself.

"Good my Lord, thank you my Lord." She babbled out, she sounded a bit drunk, not entirely drunk but for sure intoxicated.

"Can I do something for you?" He asked casually when she didn't move. He turned around and looked innocently at her. It was difficult to hold this expression because inside he was tense. A woman in his bed would actually nice, but he had lost Shae and Sansa was out of the question, for clear reasons.

"My Lord, eh, would my Lord" She stammered playing nervously with her hands.

"Yes?" He asked leaning against the bookshelf. These were more words than she had spoken to him in the past week; he was curious how far she would go.

"I think, I think it is time my Lord?"

"Time for what?" He asked innocently, raising his eyebrows. He had a hard time to keep up his own demeanour because of his tense state his dear family had left him in.

"I must go home, and Winterfell needs a Lord." She fixed her eyes to her shoes. "So we must produce an heir." She gulped visually, shaking slightly. Her tone and sudden demeanour let Tyrion feel a pang in his heart. She looked like she was ready to march up the gallows. It pained him to see her like this on the one side and hurt him personally on the other. He wasn't so bad. She acted as if he was Joffrey.

"There is no need for an heir; I think my father would be happy if the marriage would just stand untouchable." He explained her, watching her head rising in surprise. She looked confused.

"So you will?" She asked hopefully. "My Lord?"

'Once again this title'_,_ he thought.

"No, I won't."

"Why?" She suddenly cried in surprised, looking shocked. Her sudden straightforwardness startled Tyrion. It was like all her armour was removed, it was direct, clear and without all the decoration around. It fascinated him.

"Because it is not what I want." He explained her, still a bit taken aback by her outburst. But his tone required that this conversation end. Her eyes were now fixed at him, her face showed signs of tension. He liked it; it was as though the real Sansa would finally show herself to him.

"You don't want me?" She asked a bit quieter, looking puzzled. Tyrion pushed himself up from the bookshelf and stepped one step closer to her.

"It is not that…" He tried to answer but she turned her back at him, if he wouldn't know better he would say her hands would turn to fists.

"I know what you want." Her tone was defiant.

"So, and what is that?" He asked ruder than he had wanted. His body itched and he just wanted his books. A discussion about his likings wasn't what he needed right now. But on the other hand, he was curious about her reply.

"You want me to love you." She state clearly and cold, turning around she faced him with a face concerting in anger or disappointment or frustration; he wasn't sure, maybe all. "You want me to love you, but this will never happen."

"Ah, I understand." It felt like a slap in his face, he always hoped for love but this statement was so final.

"You don't." This was clearly frustration and anger.

"Let me try." He had had a bad day and now he felt that he was losing control. Her words had been too much, he had done everything he could have done for her and she just destroyed all. Why? He had Cersei for that he didn't need that from her too. "What woman could love me is it this?" He opened his arms to her, his own frustration guiding his tongue. She didn't step back only glaring at him. In hindsight he will most likely regret his words but he couldn't think far at the moment. "I am the twisted stunned ugly dwarf, with mismatched eyes and no nose. Oh yes…"

The next he hadn't seen coming. Sansa grabbed the empty flacon on the table and threw it after him.

He ducked down, totally surprised by her reaction. The flacon shattered at the shelf and let little pieces of glass rain down on him. He was dumbfounded.

"Shut up!" She screamed loud, panting heavily. It was like all dams had been opened, all her anger would flow freely, towards him. "It is not your height, you blustering unsecure mook!"

Tyrion was surprised where she had learned such words. She looked furious, her hair wasn't as neat as it had been a minute ago, and she had lost her posture. And Tyrion caught himself grinning.

He then realized he enjoyed this. The person in front of him was the real Sansa, not that obedient frightened shadow of a person she always played. It was refreshing.

"So then tell me!" He shouted back at her, and to his joy she didn't back up but continued the fight, her medallion bouncing up and down during her tirade.

"It's not your outside, I could live with that. Neither is it your cheeky personality, I could live with that too." She took a deep breath, glaring dangerously. "It is your name."

Tyrion just stare at her in utter disbelief by the revelation. He couldn't determine anymore what was with her, he could see her eyes water, but her cheeks were red of wrath and she still screamed at him.

"You are a Lannister; your family murdered all of mine. I can never love a Lannister." She pointed at him. "I can barely tolerate you."

"I am not like my family." He defended himself weakly. He didn't dare to step near her.

"So I am supposed to be thankful for that?" She walked over to the bedside table, in a surprising speed. Tyrion could guess what would happen next when, in a swift move, she grabbed the vase on the table and threw it at him. Again he ducked away while she continued yelling. "I am supposed to be grateful for the gods' mercy, that even in my worst nightmare, they let me marry the only monster of Lannister that wants to see me happy?" She didn't reach for another vase but collapsed at the edge of the bed, hiding her now tear-stained face in her arms.

"Sansa…" He wanted to approach her but she just glared at him. Tyrion stopped by the murderous look in her eyes, feeling on the one hand guilty to bring her to that point, but on the other hand he liked this unleashed a Sansa who was much better than the other one. All her frustration and anger had been set free. He had enjoyed this fight. She calmed down a bit, sobbing she gathered her words again.

"You can have my body isn't that enough for you?" she sounded very fragile now. "Do you really have to want my soul too?"

They remained long in their position, not moving, Tyrion thought very carefully about all that she said, while Sansa found her composure back and sat up on the bed, awaiting his answer.

"We talked." He stated calmly, turned around and left the room in quick steps, leaving a puzzled looking Sansa on the bed.

Jaime

Jaime was on his way through the halls of the Red Keep to Cersei. His sister awaited him that night when he heard a hum out of one of the gardens. Searching for the source he found his little brother sitting on a stone bench looking out on the narrow sea, a cup of wine in his hand.

"It seems you are in a good mood brother." Jaime stated the obvious, coming to a stop behind him. He had still some time until he had to be with.

"Indeed, I'm in a very good mood." Tyrion sounded a bit exhausted, but not from the wine. He looked a bit disorganised, like he had a fight.

"And why is that so?" Jaime's curiosity had been awakened; whatever Tyrion had done it was unusual.

"I had an argument with Sansa, or better a fight. She yelled at me." Tyrion added with a dumb smile. Jaime first feared he had actually fought with her but dismissed the thought immediately, knowing his brother to well.

"And this is good how?" His brother had to be gone crazy, when he considered an argument as something good. He suspected for a long time that this weird, unhealthy marriage would end badly for both. Even if uncle Kevan thought they could manage it if they tried. He thought similar, under different circumstances maybe, but not so.

He wanted to send the girl to her aunt at the Eyrie but father had said no. Brienne had wanted to bring her out but had failed. She had been captured trying to infiltrate his brother's chambers. Luckily for her, Tyrion hadn't been mad. Rumours even state he would have offered Sansa to go with her but she said no. Tyrion wouldn't speak of it and Brienne had left to search for Arya Stark.

Jaime turned his attention from his thoughts back to his brother who swung the wine in his hand and continued:

"For a long time I doubted it, but now, now I am sure one day she will love me." He looked up at him and added: "I certainly will."

"Are you drunk?" He looked not but it was better to ask.

"No, I just came to know that she doesn't despise me for my height or look, neither does she hate me." He took a sip of his cup "It is just that I am a Lannister."

"And why is this good?" He certainly couldn't change his blood, but Tyrion just chuckled.

"I know what the problem is now, and I can work on it. I see a light at the end of the tunnel." He threw his head back, glancing at him with a grin. "She will love me. And if not, hopefully we will at least fight again." And another sip and a chuckle before he stated: "You have no idea how breathtakingly beautiful she is when she is furious."

Jaime was sure now; his brother had finally gone mad

* * *

**Hope you liked it**

**I had really fun writing it**

**Read and review come on!**

**There will be a longer story soon, look out for it**


End file.
